


A Perfect Christmas

by lesyeuxverts



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesyeuxverts/pseuds/lesyeuxverts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas promises were empty promises, and Severus hadn't expected Potter to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Perfect Christmas

The fire had burned low in the grate, and the embers were a sullen red. There had been no green flare, no flash of soot and powder, no seasick Potter stumbling out onto Severus's hearth. It didn't matter – Christmas promises were empty promises, and Severus hadn't expected Potter to come.  
  
He used a poker to stir the embers, sending sparks up into the chimney. They were red flecks of char and ash that flared and burned, gone in mere seconds, and Severus had another whiskey, and it was one too many, but he didn't care.  
  
When Potter arrived at last, Severus saw him doubled – one Potter dismounting from his broom and coming close to Severus, almost close enough to touch him, and the other staying on the broom, winking and blowing kisses at him. He promised to stay safe – he promised to be good. Severus didn't believe him for one second, the Gryffindor minx.  
  
"Took you long enough." His tongue was thick in his mouth, and it was hard to say the words – but then Potter was in his arms, smelling like cold night air and evergreens and the wind that came in over the lake.  
  
"Hard to find you, out in the middle of nowhere," Potter said. He unwrapped himself, layer by layer, shedding scarves the way snakes shed their skins, and he was warm when he came into Severus's arms again. "I didn't think you'd survived."  
  
"You know me," Severus said, and it was a promise – it was a threat. If Potter kept him waiting again … if Potter had not come ….   
  
"I know." Harry raised a hand to Severus's throat and touched the scars there, tracing the length of each one. "I know."  
  
It wasn't the way that Severus had planned to meet him again – he'd wanted to have Potter in the forest by the lake again, skin bare against skin, unearthly and pale in the light cast by the Patronus. He'd wanted to take Harry and heal the wounds left by the war, just as he'd been the one to find Harry and soothe the sores in his neck, the jagged wounds left by the locket. He'd wanted to be the strong one.  
  
This was Potter, though, and he never did what Severus expected. He came back to the Shack after he believed Severus to be dead; he came by broom instead of Floo; he came hours after midnight, well into the second glass of whiskey and the early hours of Christmas day. He died and was reborn, in spite of everything that Severus had feared – in spite of every prophecy and in spite of every natural law.   
  
And if Harry was in Severus's arms, and if Harry was so thin that Severus felt his ribs and the knobby ridges of his spine when he took each breath, and if Harry was _here_ for Christmas, then Severus wasn't going to complain. If Harry conjured a carpet and lowered him gently to the hearth, and made a line of kisses from his throat to his sternum, then Severus wasn't going to complain. It was Harry, after all.  
  
He kissed Harry back, and made short work of buttons and the remaining scarves, unraveling Harry like a mummy – and when it was done, when they were pressed skin to skin, one against the other, there was nothing left to hide. It was all laid bare, secrets and scars together, and Harry was beautiful in the glow of the dying fire.   
  
The last log popped, and Harry jumped. Severus pushed the hair back from his face and pulled him down for a kiss. "Stay the night," he said. There was nothing to it, nothing but comfort and a Christmas spent with company, but still Harry took his hand and pulled him to his feet, leading him to the bedroom, and Severus didn't complain.  
  
They discovered one another, learning the lines and curves of flesh and bone again as if they were new. They _were_ new. This was no forbidden fumble in a forest, nothing born of desperation in the last months of a war, nothing that came to light when Severus pulled Harry out of the pond and breathed the air back into his lungs. This was more than that.  
  
When it was over – when Harry had curled up against him, cold toes pressed against his shin – Severus, sleepless through the early hours of the morning, watched over Harry. Harry's skin was smooth, and he fit into the curve of Severus's arm, and though he took more than his fair share of the bed covers, he didn't snore.   
  
It had not been like this in the forest. Severus had never known it to be like this, two bodies nestled together as if they fit together. He pushed Harry away in the middle of the night and rolled over onto side, watching the starlight through the window and repossessing his half of the covers. Harry was warm against his back.  
  
Severus woke again after dawn, when the sunlight was bright enough to cast shadows over the bed. Potter was entwined with him, the sheets twisted around them until they were almost tied together.   
  
Potter made no attempt to free himself from the tangle of blankets when he woke. Instead of fleeing, he kissed Severus on the forehead. "Morning breath," he said with a little smile. "Or I'd give you a real kiss."  
  
When Severus said nothing, Harry kissed him again and again – kisses sprinkled liberally over his cheekbones, over the line of his jaw, over his large nose. He stopped at last and sucked in a deep breath. "Well," he said. "Good morning."  
  
Severus didn't wake up with his lovers – had never needed to make excuses for morning breath – had never needed to make a second cup of tea. He tried to pry himself out of the bed, but Harry caught him, pulling him back. "We don't have to be anywhere this morning."  
  
"Some of us prefer not to laze abed–"  
  
"It's _Christmas_ , Severus."  
  
"No maudlin Muggle holiday–"  
  
"Indulge me," Potter said, and Severus was tempted to do just that. He wanted his morning tea, though, and he managed to lever himself up and out of bed before Potter had worked his arms and legs out of the tangle of sheets.   
  
"If you get dressed," Severus said, pulling on yesterday's wrinkled robes, "we can go out into the forest and find a fir tree."  
  
That was enough to tempt Potter, and Severus escaped to the kitchen while he dressed. The fire had burned down, and he stirred the ashes with a poker, conjuring logs and fire with a flick of his wand.   
  
Before he could say "mistletoe," Potter was dressed and had joined him – was helping him brew the tea and slice the bread for toast. He caught Severus for a kiss before the first scalding sip, and the tea had cooled enough to be drinkable by the time Harry released him.   
  
"We'll get a tree and mistletoe and ivy–"  
  
"Christmas is almost over, there's no need–"  
  
"There's every need in the world," Harry said, wrapping half of his scarves around Severus. "We're going to have a perfect Christmas."


End file.
